Divulgence
by FancifulRivers
Summary: Light confesses that he's Kira. Why? He doesn't know. But L probably has something to do with it.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I do not and never will own Death Note. Very AU. This was intended to be a one-shot, but my brain has decided otherwise. It won't be very long though. Warning for suicidal ideation.**

"I am Kira," Light says, and the handcuffs click over his wrists.

He is strip-searched (he expected that), and nobody speaks to him (he expected that, also). Misa looks at him with wet, wounded eyes but doesn't say a word (that, he didn't expect).

L says nothing.

The police aren't gentle as he is shoved into a cell, wearing only what is provided for him. Nobody wants to take the chance that he has a scrap of the Death Note hidden on his person. He can't blame them. He feels raw, like his insides have been scooped out and left with nothing to replace them. His cell is tiny. A narrow cot along the wall with one thin blanket and pillow, and a toilet.

L sits crouched outside his cell on a folding chair. He says nothing.

Shame burns in his stomach, lies curdled along his tongue. When he'd lost his memories, he'd thought Kira a monster. Kira's plans were short-sighted, his thoughts overly grandiose. A murderer with trumped-up allusions to godhood. Doesn't it fit that he is the monster after all?

Ryuk is surprised that he has given himself up. He is surprised, too. It wasn't in his plans, but none of this had been. He didn't expect what it would be like to work with Ryuzaki, to be handcuffed to the world's greatest detective day in and day out, what it would feel like to have those maddening blank spots in his memory. Empty holes like tooth sockets, sore and resistant to probing with a mental tongue.

When he finds out what they were hiding, he screams and his shriek is his undoing.

They give him a tray through the bars, but he only picks at it. He isn't hungry. He isn't allowed visitors, but he doesn't want them anyway. There is nothing he could say, beyond what he already has.

L sits in on the interrogation, too, still crouched, his thumb tapping at his bottom lip. Light repeats everything ad nauseum. _Yes, I'm Kira. I wrote in the Death Note. Yes, this is what I did, who I murdered..._ He still remembers every single name he'd written down, and it is a list that scoured his soul.

He doesn't justify it. He's already gone over why his ideals were impossible, why they could have never worked the way he wanted them to. He has no desire to explore the depths of his hubris once more.

Every morning, he wakes up and sees L perched outside his cell, leaning against the bars. The smudges beneath Ryuzaki's eyes grow darker, the bones in the man's slender body more pronounced. If he eats or sleeps, Light doesn't see it.

After a week, he is taken away, handcuffed again, with special gloves placed over top of them. They immobilize his fingers completely, but he can't bring himself to care. He doesn't recognize where they are. It's not the skyscraper.

This cell is more comfortable, looking more like a hotel room than anything else, but Light knows what a prison is, even without bars on the windows.

"Hello, Kira," L says, when he is finally situated, and he prefers L's silence to this. The detective's affect is so flat, he appears robotic. "You have been brought to this place for safekeeping. Kira supporters found out where you were being held before and were planning to storm the prison."

"I'm sorry," Light whispers, but it provokes no reaction.

"There are cameras in here, as I am sure you have already noted, Kira," L continues. "I will take the gloves off, but the handcuffs will remain. Please do not try to escape. You will be tranquilized instead."

"I won't try to escape," Light promises, but even he can hear how empty his words sound. Why should L believe anything he says? He's a _murderer._

The handcuffs chafe, but he refuses to let it show. L watches him a few minutes more, dark eyes like black holes, the circles under them more pronounced than ever. When he leaves, Light feels abandoned.

He cries himself to sleep that night. Silently. There are tear tracks down his face, and he knows that the cameras have picked it up, that someone is probably watching (and laughing? to see Kira brought so low?) but he can't stop himself.

They fall into a routine. L brings him his meals, three times a day. He is allowed access to books, although they are mainly fiction and can't hold his attention. He also has access to a television, but news channels are blocked for him. He leaves it on meaningless soap operas and children's cartoons, comforting only for the noise in the background.

Occasionally, someone will come in and ask him more questions. He answers to the best of his ability. He has no reason to lie anymore. They already know the worst of him (does he?), and there is no need to hide.

L still looks exhausted and after the first day, says nothing, no matter how Light tries to provoke him. He doesn't know why he can't stop goading the man. It's pointless and petty. But he can't stop.

"I know what you are doing, Kira," L finally says quietly one day, and Light freezes, his cheeks suffused with blood and his heart thumping unsteadily in his ears. "It will not work. You mean nothing to me. You are a murderer."

It isn't until the day after that Light starts pondering suicide.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning for suicidal ideation/suicide attempt at the end.**

Light's not allowed to write anything down, but the things he wants to research, he can't put in writing anyway. If L knows what he's considering, he will stop him, and that he cannot stand. He turns to novels, skimming through emotional dirges of teenage crises, mental health wards, and self harm attempts. Blood splatters on shredded wrists, a handful of pills artistically spread on a palm. He can't do any of those. He has no access to medication. The bathroom's medicine cabinet holds nothing but empty shelves.

Slashing his wrists has a certain artistic appeal, but he doubts that he could ever manage it in the time frame that would be required. It's impossible, and foolish, and yet planning his death gives him a small measure of comfort.

L still brings him his meals, but there's a quickness to his movements that wasn't there before, and the man looks even more haunted. Light considers trying to apologize again, but ultimately rejects it. It won't do anything. It might make it worse. He _is_ Kira and the detective hates him, perhaps even more than he hates himself.

He can't figure out why he confessed to begin with. It doesn't make any sense. Confession doesn't bring forgiveness. He cannot atone for his sins, the blood of too many people to count still stains his fingers. He can barely bring himself to admit that he was wrong in the first place. Ironic that his memory loss brought that about. When he was not Kira, he could see the flaws so clearly. Touching the Death Note again was a painful shock in more ways than one.

 _I am Kira._ Still, what had he expected from his admission? L knew, L had always known, and Light is still awestruck at the mental capacity of the slump-shouldered, dark-haired detective. He eats so many sweets his blood must be sugar, he can't sit properly in a chair, and he never goes to sleep, but Light knows that if he hadn't confessed, L was going to bring him down anyway. Wasn't he?

The Death Note corrupts. Light _knows_ that, and yet can't seem to make himself believe it. In the weeks (months? how long has it been?) since his confession, he has felt a remarkable purity of spirit, like something has been scraped clean from the innermost recesses of his mind. He knows it's probably wishful thinking, he has not relinquished ownership in truth, but it makes him feel better to think of it that way. He's not Kira anymore. He can't be Kira anymore. But he is.

He's allowed to shower once every two days and it is in his next shower, Light wonders what exactly he could do to himself in the confines of the narrow stall. The frosted glass _is_ glass and he thinks that if he hits it just right, he could shatter it. There is much one can do with broken glass pieces, even in a short amount of time. He files it away for next time even as he twists the water off and steps out, goosebumps pimpling his skin in the humidity-swamped bathroom. The handcuff chain is still ice against him.

The next day, L visits.

He perches on a chair, hands resting on his thighs, and just _watches_. Light doesn't know how to react, how to respond. In the old days, it was a game. Parry, thrust, counter. If I say _this_ , I'll sound more Kira-like, but if I react like _that_ , I won't. It doesn't matter anymore, of course. L already knows who he is.

"Why are you here?" he finally bursts out. L only looks at him.

"Watching Kira," L replies. His voice sounds even deader, if that were possible. "Watching a monster."

"I'm not," Light whispers, but the denial is as hollow as the rest of him. He tries to go back to his book, but it feels pointless. It _is_ pointless and he derives a certain brief satisfaction from throwing it against the wall.

"If Kira continues to throw things, Kira will be sedated," is all L will say, and finally, Light retreats in sleep, or what meager rest he can claim under L's haunted eyes.

When he wakes, L is still there, slouched over further, and hiding a yawn. He has a mug filled with chocolate ice cream dangling between his fingers, but he's barely touched it.

 _Please eat,_ Light wants to tell him. _I'm not worth starving to death._

He says nothing.

L leaves only twice, and Light has no idea where he goes. The ice cream finally, reluctantly disappears down L's throat, as does numerous ice lollies and one piece of strawberry cake. It relieves Light in a way he cannot express. L eats mechanically, but he does eat.

Light himself has no appetite. He picks at his tray until L takes it away, leveling a glare at him.

"If Kira will not eat, Kira will be intubated," L tells him.

It is when L has left the room, taking away his dinner tray, that Light finally can't take it anymore. He gets up, wandering into the bathroom with a book in one hand, like he intends to be there for a while. When he enters the bathroom for unsanitary purposes, he knows that L doesn't like to watch him.

Bunching up the handcuff chain like a bludgeon, he smashes the shower glass into pieces.

He's frozen for a moment, frankly astonished at how well it's cracked apart, a spreading spiderweb of shattered bits that tinkle to the ground at his feet. Then he hears the doorknob of his suite rattling and he drops to his knees, uncaring of the sharp prickle of glass through his pants, as he picks up the largest piece he can find and hacks at himself with it. It is clumsy- the glass keeps twisting in his fingers- but perhaps that is for the better. Blood pools beneath him, reflecting brilliantly scarlet, and he slumps. Is it enough to die? He doesn't know.

It would be for the best, though, he thinks muzzily, shivering as the door in the other room bangs open, as footsteps crash toward him. Kira, dead by his own hand. A bit messier than a scribbled entry in the Death Note, but in a way, that's what a self-proclaimed god deserves, isn't it?

"Light, what have you-" he hears L's voice, and the shock of hearing his name spill forth from the detective's mouth is almost enough to keep him conscious.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Sorry it's taken a while to update. Nano happened.**

Light wakes up as he's being lifted onto a stretcher. L is by his side, eyes so wide they look like holes. His hands keep fluttering around Light as if he wants to touch him, but doesn't quite dare. The pain in his arms is immense and when he manages to look down, all he can see is red. His stomach heaves and he twists his head to the side, trying desperately not to throw up all over himself.

"Keep him still-" a voice above him directs, and there are hands clamping his shoulders down. He tries to pay attention to where they're going, but it's futile. The ceiling is a pastel blur above him, and he keeps drifting in and out of consciousness.

L keeps pace beside the stretcher the whole way.

"Why?" he tries to whisper, tries to question the detective, but his tongue can't properly form the words. There is a sharp sting in his hand and he tries to jerk it away, but it's held in place, meaningless soothing words directed his way. _I'm Kira, don't soothe me,_ he wants to tell them. He wants to shout it to the rafters, but instead, they simply slip in an IV. He doesn't know why. Why are they trying to save him? Surely this is a fitting end? Ignominiously slashed to pieces by his own hand?

Unless L has even more planned for him. Is even death to be denied a false god? Light's eyes flit around the ambulance, lighting on L, sitting next to him, carefully out of the way of the EMTs. The sight relaxes him more than it should.

The technician by his head keeps asking him questions, but suddenly, Light can't answer him anymore. A great lassitude spreads through his body and as his eyes drift shut again, he sees for the first time, raw panic stamped across L's face.

He wakes up again in a hospital bed. There is a monitor beeping quietly to itself, reeling out his life signs, and both arms are heavily bandaged. When he tries to move one, he thinks he can feel stitches, but he's not sure. His wrists feel raw and pulsing. The handcuffs are gone, but the stitches feel like a new kind of chain.

"Light is awake," L says softly. Light twists around as best as he can, to see L perched on a hospital chair next to his bed. The man is ghost-white and Light notices with a deep pang of shame that the detective's jeans and shirt are sodden at the edges with his blood.

"I'm sorry," he croaks, regret curdling in his stomach. He turns back, not willing to watch L's face as the condemnations spill forth. _Monster, monster, monster_ echoes in time with his heart beat.

"Why, Light?" L asks, his voice still whisper-quiet.

"I-" he stalls. "I don't know," Light says instead. It's not the truth, but perhaps it's the only truth that he can let slip free, under L's watchful eyes.

"Why is Light lying to me?" L questions, and Light's horrified to feel tears spilling down his cheeks.

"You keep calling me Light," he says instead, craning his head to look at the detective. L's eyes widen, his thumb still below his bottom lip.

"That is your name," L replies, and Light watches the man's eyes shift, the slight red color coming into pale cheeks.

"You never called me it before," Light says, and wonders why. What if L starts calling him Kira again? If that happens- He wonders if it is possible to stab yourself to death with an IV needle.

"I wasn't aware that I needed to," L states, leaning forward slightly. His feet are bare even in the hospital, Light notices.

"I'm Kira," Light says anyway, as if he's impatient for his own self destruction. To his shock, L shakes his head.

"No," L contradicts softly.

"What do you mean, no," Light blurts out. "I confessed, you have the Note, I _am_ -"

"You no longer have the Death Note," L says. "You are no longer Kira. And I-" He hesitates, nibbling on a ragged remnant of thumbnail as he shifts in the hard plastic chair.

"It was- perhaps- wrong of me to only refer to you as Kira," L admits. "In truth, I wanted to see you only as a monster. Kira is a monster." The words sting and Light winces before he can stop himself. "But you are not only Kira, you have never been only Kira. You are also Light Yagami. My- friend."

Blood roars in Light's ears and for one dizzying, uncertain moment, he is convinced that he is about to faint.

"Friend?" he whispers.

"I know that you likely never thought of me in such a way, but yes, I considered- consider- you friend," L says. "I knew you were Kira. I just did not want to believe it. And yet I had no choice when you confessed."

"I knew you knew," Light replies, staring down at the thin hospital blanket. His foot spasms, kicking it askew, and he's surprised when L hops down from his precarious perch to rearrange it. "That's why I had to confess, to- atone..." He stops.

"I thought if perhaps I only addressed you as Kira, I would come to see you only as Kira, and forget that you were once my friend, Light Yagami," L continues where he left off. "I can see now that decision was mistaken."

"I'm sorry," Light says again. He doesn't know exactly what he's apologizing for. Existing? Trying to kill himself? Not succeeding? Bitterness wells in his throat.

"You're in my custody by the way," L tells him, out of nowhere. "You have been for months. I am sure you have wondered..."

Light shrugs listlessly. Not really. His own guilt and self-loathing have consumed him since the words first left his lips. L could have lined him up for a firing squad and he would have gone to his grave, silent and accepting.

"Nobody outside of this room knows that you are Kira," L says, and Light freezes. His heartbeat flutters, picked up by the incessant beep of the monitor, and L leans forward, stroking his shoulder awkwardly with the tips of three fingers.

"Please stay calm,"he tells Light. "I cannot explain to the medical staff why your heart rate has become elevated."

"No, I guess not," Light replies, in a daze. The crushing weight of _I-am-Kira-I-am-a-murderer_ lifts for a moment, letting him breathe a bit better. "But why-"

"You are in no condition to escape, are you, Light?" L asks, retreating back, curling in on himself. The corner of his mouth tips up in a rueful smile. "The police would be clumsy. Watari knows of our location. That is sufficient."

"Aren't there cameras or something?" Light questions, eyes darting to the corners of the room. L laughs, and the sound is so foreign, Light gapes at him in shock.

"Watari," is all he says, and it is enough.

Light relaxes back against the bed, suddenly aware of how dry his throat has become, and how much his arms have started to throb. He opens his mouth to say so, but L beats him to it, summoning a nurse for more pain medication and assisting him in drinking from a plastic water cup with a bendy straw. The water tastes oddly sweet and Light is about to say something when he sees the shame-faced look the world's greatest detective currently sports, and it's all he can do to avoid choking on said drink.

"Are you feeling better, Light?" L asks politely, settling back into the visitor's chair. The nurse gave him a blanket, and he's wrapped it around himself, mercifully hiding all traces of bloodstained clothing from Light's view.

"Yes," Light says. He's surprised to discover how true that is. It isn't the medication (although that helps), or the cessation of his thirst. It's...L. Treating him like a person. Like it was, before his confession. It's not quite the same, but it rings true enough.

"Good." L nods, leaning forward again. His eyes are peculiarly intent. "Then I may ask again. Light, why _did_ you attempt suicide?"


	4. Chapter 4

"We went over this already," Light mumbles.

"Did we?" L muses, tapping his chin with one long, spidery index finger. "You prefer to be called Light. I prefer to call you Light, at this point in time. But Light, that does not explain why you would attempt to kill yourself when called something else."

"Of course it does," Light bursts out, words tripping over themselves. "You're not the only one who considered someone else a friend or more, you know-" He stops, ears ringing, face flushing.

"Or more?"

Of course L picks up on it, Light thinks sourly.

"Just, you know," Light fumbles with the edge of the blanket, carefully not looking up at the frog-like detective perched at his bedside. "I thought of you as a friend, too. I didn't want to hurt you."

"We seem to have a different definition of hurt, but I appreciate the sentiment, Light," L says calmly. "But I do not think that is what Light meant when he said 'or more,' is it?"

"I don't know," L mutters. The tips of his ears burn, and he can virtually hear his pulse treble. The monitors show only a slight elevation in heart rate, but what do they know?

"I think that you do, but we are getting off the subject," L returns, as if he's not the one who's directed them down this particular path of inquiry to begin with. "Why would this state of events lead Light to attempting to end his life?"

"Because you- you hated me," Light says. His throat is thick with unshed tears, and he feels pathetic. "Not sure if you noticed, L, but it's not like I had that many people who gave a damn about me to begin with. Not _really_. And then we were- we were friends or rivals or something- and then I had to confess, I couldn't keep it a secret anymore, you knew, and it was going to come out anyway, and I just- the only way I could see it not coming out was writing your name down and I couldn't do it- The thought made me feel sick, if you must know, and then- I did- and you hated me, and I deserved it, I know I did, I still do, but it..." He stops, breathing hard, tears prickling his eyes. "It hurt," he finally finishes.

"I- I'm sorry," L says, the monotone foregone for what sounds like deep shock. Light pushes himself up, forces himself to stare into L's eyes. The man looks shell-shocked, dark circles even more prominent and fingers trembling.

"I had no idea," L whispers.

"You're the greatest three detectives in the world, what do you mean you had no idea?" Light demands. L shakes his head, toes curling around the hard plastic edge of the chair, although it must hurt.

"I didn't hate you," L says instead, fingers knotting in the blanket that's still haphazardly looped around himself. He looks painfully thin, and Light's reminded uncomfortably once more how little L's been eating during his incarceration. "I never hated you. That was the problem."

"You had an interesting way of showing your lack of hatred," Light snipes, but there's no real bite behind it. L flinches back anyway, the chair scraping back a centimeter or so.

"I thought that you had already written my name in the Note," L reveals. "I assumed that you must have, and I had accepted it. I was preparing to send my work to others, so they could take up where I had left off. Because I could not- would not-" He stops, looking at the floor.

"I could not reveal you as Kira," L finishes. "A moment of weakness, brought on by my own impending death. I did not hate you, Light Yagami."

Light can do nothing but stare at him.

"You should eat something," is all he can think to say, and he's rewarded a moment later by L's laughter.

He spends a painful amount of time in the hospital. They want to send him to a psychiatric center, but L stops it somehow. Light overhears him reassuring a doctor about private therapeutic intervention, and he wonders if it will happen. Before, he would have assumed it nothing but a front, a cover for his own prison. Now, he's not sure. The uncertainty chafes.

The shadows under L's eyes remain, but Light's relieved to see they grow no darker. L spends every waking moment he can by Light's bedside, although at Light's request, they have moved in a recliner, so that he no longer has to stay curled into that uncomfortable visitor's chair. While he remains trapped in a hospital room, they don't speak anymore of that first painful day, though Light can see the promise of more conversation in L's eyes sometimes.

He's released on a Thursday, and it's a shock to him when he's wheeled into the parking lot and there are no handcuffs waiting for him. L accompanies him, and he can see Watari in the driver's seat, but there are no armed guards, no police officers. He wonders how exactly he's ended up solely in L's custody to begin with, and doubts the man will enlighten him.

The drive is silent. L keeps looking at him out of the corner of his eye, but says nothing. Light looks down at the bandages still covering both arms, fighting the urge to pick at them. He should be looking outside, plotting their route (if he can), figuring out where they are going. He does none of that. He doesn't even look out the window until they are pulling into an underground parking garage, and the sudden dissipation of light startles him.

"This way," L finally speaks, guiding him with a hand on his elbow. The elevator is large, more than accommodating of three people, but Light feels claustrophobia claw at his throat anyway, caressing his spine with icy fingers.

He expects his old suite, the comfortable prison (have they replaced the shower glass?) but instead, he is guided to a new suite. One that appears to be already occupied. His brow wrinkles in confusion and L clears his throat beside him.

"While you are still recovering, I thought it might be more prudent for you to share with me-" _again_ is the unspoken end to the sentence.

"Oh," Light says.

"I can move you into the neighboring rooms if you would like," L tells him. "And Watari is supposed to bring in another bed tonight for me."

"We can share the bed if you want," Light stammers. L looks at him, eyes inscrutable, before nodding.

"All right then," L says quietly. "Tomorrow, your therapist will visit you. He knows that you're Kira, but he's very discreet."

"How do you know?" Light bursts out, chest aching. L smiles slightly.

"Because he's mine."


End file.
